


et al.

by mr-finch (soubriquet)



Category: Lost
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soubriquet/pseuds/mr-finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the others went inside, Ben's place was elsewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	et al.

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the series finale. Gen, but could be read as Richard/Ben.

When the end comes, Ben is alone, outside. He has segregated himself from the rest, knowing that it will be better for them. He’s not the important one to anyone in there, and really, despite all of the time he’s known them, none of them are very important to him, either.

No one except the man in white on a wheelchair, or the leader he’s spent decades making a new heaven with. It’s funny that, finally faced with the real deal, he has no idea what to expect. There are no rules or guidelines here.

So he sits on a bench; waits for it, whatever It is, to come. He’s made his peace. Though his life was shorter than most it lasted long enough, and he had a great time building, before the biological power surge that claimed his heart.

He’s so deep in trying to _get_ there that he only notices the man walking towards him when he’s barely three meters away. 

“Richard,” he says, like a breath that hitches on the way out.

He looks… happier. The tension that used to haunt his posture has vanished, he still looks barely a day over thirty, and in the corner of his mouth he has laughter lines.

“It’s been a while,” Richard agrees, with a smile, although Ben hasn’t asked him a question. 

There’s a silence, but mostly it’s because Ben can’t quite believe he’s here. “Are you here for the funeral?”

“I am.” Richard finally stops, shoes at the edge of the grass. He’s wearing that dark blue shirt, the one Linus brought back from England once. “You’re not inside.”

“No,” Ben says, stretching out the vowel. “I thought I would spare them the face of an old enemy.”

The streetlights don’t reach Richard’s face when he dips his head in response. Then, out of the blue, he moves forward and eases himself down onto the bench next to Ben. “You don’t still believe that, do you?”

He’s clearly expecting some sort of assent or a prickly reaction, and Ben doesn’t blame him for it, but when he scouts for an answer himself he has only one, surprising revelation. “I don’t.” 

It should be gallant, his turnabout. Perhaps accompanied by the crack of a gunshot or a piece of enlightening music. But instead it’s quiet, at night, just two people in the space of a whole world. A year ago, he would’ve been disappointed. Now, it’s almost too powerful to bear.

“Richard, what are you doing here?” he asks, and unexpectedly there’s a hand on his bicep, and then it’s replaced by another hand and the first one goes around his shoulders. Without even being aware of how needed it was, he’s leaning into it, vision flooding with tears that escape even when he turns his face into the hollow of Richard’s neck.

“I’m here for you,” Richard says, and it hurts so much that for a moment Ben forgets to breathe. “You don’t have to wait any longer. I’m here for you.”


End file.
